Apologies and Confessions
by Jensine70
Summary: After Veronica accuses Weevil of stealing Lilly's necklace from her, she proves it was not him (#3.5 "President Evil"). Deciding she owes him an apology, she goes to his apartment and waits for him to get home. ONE-SHOT Weevil POV


DISCLAIMER: Characters of Veronica Mars, any recognizable dialogue, and the canon events of their storyline belong to Rob Thomas.

A/N:

Another short fic pulled from my "ideas folder."

Set just after #3.5 "President Evil."

* * *

**Weevil POV**

Gotta get my head straight. I haven't been able to concentrate all day.

First day back at work and my mind is working overtime.

I should be flying high today. The charges against me were dropped. I still have my job at Hearst. Hell, she had even been the one to prove that I hadn't done it. But that didn't change the fact that she had accused me. She'd come into my home asking for the necklace back, so damn sure that I was guilty.

Still couldn't believe that she'd think I'd do that to her. After all we've been through. All the times I had trusted her – and I didn't trust easily. I guess she had never really trusted me.

I had rearranged my schedule to be there for her presentation that day in class. Stood in front of people I don't know and exposed my story and myself. For her. Because that's the kind of thing we've always done for each other. One of us needs something, we back each other up. No questions asked – maybe a little negotiation, but we've always come through for each other.

Or maybe I was wrong about all that.

Damn, she was quick to believe that I had committed the crime, to believe that I would take Lilly's necklace from her. Then again, she did start dating Logan again. Clearly, her judgment isn't as good as I thought it was.

Guess I should thank God the guilty party was stupid enough to have the pizza delivered to my place. V knew I would never use a stolen credit card like that. It would be too easy to connect me to the robbery.

She still had to check it out, verify my version of the story. Would have been nice if she could have just taken my word for it.

[

Driving home from work, I find myself wondering how long it will take for us to trust each other again.

As I pull into my parking space, I notice her car. I walk over and put my hand on the hood. Cold. She's been here for a while. Waiting for me. What the hell does she want this time?

Lifting my key to the lock, I brace myself for whatever she plans to throw at me this time. But as I step through the door, the tension I felt releases, and my heart softens.

She is curled up on my couch asleep. Must still trust me. At least a little bit.

Quietly, I shut the door and set down my toolbox. Then, I walk over to the coffee table and sit down in front of her face. She wears a slight smile as she sleeps. She has the most beautiful face I've ever seen. The face of an angel.

I glance around the hellhole I live in. She doesn't belong in a place like this.

A couple years ago, at the Echolls's Christmas party, I told her she fit in there. She didn't seem to agree with me, but she ended up with Logan anyway. I hate the fact that she seems to fit into his world better than she does in mine.

But seeing her on my couch when she could be in her boyfriend's luxury suite, it makes me wonder.

I've been wondering for years.

Years of flirting and fantasizing. Years that got me exactly nowhere. All that flirting and nothing to show for the effort. Well, she did flirt back – and there is still no one I'd rather flirt with – but she didn't take me seriously. I know she didn't. She couldn't have. Or she wouldn't have ended up with a string of 09er boyfriends.

Staring at her smooth skin, I want to know what it feels like to touch her, to hold her. My eyes move to her lips, and I want to know what it would feel like to press my lips to hers. What does she taste like? Would our first kiss be gentle or urgent from years of expectation?

Before I realize what I'm doing, I reach out to brush a piece of hair off her face.

She stirs and begins to wake up. And I brace myself again.

As her eyes open, she seems to remember where she is and why she's here. "You're home."

"Yeah … my home. What are you doing here? Again."

"I need to talk to you."

"Why?"

"Because I owe you an apology."

"For breaking into my home twice?"

She smiles, and it lights up the room. It also awakens feelings in me that I've tried to ignore for years.

Finally, she says, "Well, yeah, that too. But no. I … I'm sorry for … jumping to conclusions … assuming the worst." She pauses and looks away for a moment. Then, she sits up, turning toward me. "I should know better than that. I know you better than that."

She places a hand on my forearm. Her touch sets my skin on fire. Her lips are right in front of me. If I don't move away, I'll be in real danger of kissing her.

"Can you ever forgive—"

Before she can finish her question, I stand up, but she immediately gets to her feet too. Now we're face to face, mere inches away from each other.

"Please, say something, Weevil. If you're angry with me … tell me that, tell me anything."

I step away and walk into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I grab a bottle of beer. Without turning around, I ask if she wants one.

"I shouldn't. I have to drive home."

At first, I think that might mean she is planning to leave, but she surprises me by asking if I have anything else to drink.

"Some juice and milk from when my cousins were over. A couple cans of soda. Some food if you're hungry." As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. Why am I offering her food? I'm not even sure I want her to stay.

"Actually, I am hungry."

Damn. Whatever you do, don't mention the popsicles you keep in the freezer for the younger cousins. Don't think I could handle watching her wrap her lips around one of those right now. Or ever.

"A few slices of leftover pizza. Some chips." I open the fridge to see what else I have, but before I can give her other options, she gives me her answer.

"I wouldn't mind a piece of pizza. And a soda."

"You want it cold or reheated?"

"Cold is fine."

As I put the plate and can in front of her on the coffee table, she thanks me and sits back down on the couch. I decide to sit next to her. Taking a long pull on my beer, I try to think of something to say. Finally, I lean my head back, deciding to just let her eat in silence.

A couple minutes later, I feel her hand on my knee as she says, "I really am sorry. I'm not sure what else to say, but I …" She sighs. "I don't want to leave things like this between us."

I know she means well, but I just can't handle this right now – sitting this close, her hand on my leg. Without saying anything, I get up and move over to the chair.

"Weevil, do you want me to go?"

Taking another drink, I stare across the room. I have no idea what to say to that. And yet, I do. So I say the only thing I can say.

The words come out as a whisper. "No. I never want you to go."

She doesn't say anything for the longest time. Then she says quietly, "I'm not sure I understand."

"No. I guess you wouldn't. You never did." I look up and find that she has moved down to the end of the couch next to my chair.

"You're acting like you're angry with me – rightfully so – but you offer me food and drink … and then tell me you don't want me to leave. I'm confused."

"I'm not angry. Hurt? Hell yes. Angry? No." I pause for a moment before continuing. "I can accept your apology, but it'll take me a while to get over it."

She nods silently that she understands, but she doesn't say anything. She waits to see if I'll say more.

Shaking my head, I say, "My grandma always said that the people closest to us – the ones we really care about – are the ones who can hurt us the most." She looks stunned by my words. That's when I realize I've said too much, revealed too much. Guess I might as well roll with it. "That's why I can't believe that you'd think I'd do that to you."

"Because … you …" Her eyes drop to her lap as she says, "I should have known."

"Why? Why should you have known?" I push her to say it out loud.

"I said it before. I know you better than that." She looks up at me. "But as much as I know you, I feel like I'm missing something. Why do you keep moving away from me if you're not angry with me?"

"Come on, V. You're not that dumb." I stand and walk back into the kitchen. I'm leaning against the counter when she comes in after me.

"Apparently I am. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I keep moving away because it's … too difficult to be close to you."

Still not getting it, she asks, "Too difficult?"

I push off the counter and take one step toward her. Giving her a couple seconds to feel the intensity of the moment, I look into her eyes before saying, "You feel that, right?" A crooked smile finds its way to my lips.

She swallows and then nods her answer. "But I'm no less confused. You were angry and now you're flirting. Is this a game to you?"

"I don't play games. Especially not with you."

"What do you call all the flirting over the years?"

"Not a game."

"Seriously?!"

"Deadly serious."

"You … can't … be serious."

"Every. Damn. Time."

"But … but …" She's sputtering. And it's adorable.

"Yeah, babe."

"But you never …"

"I clearly wasn't your type."

"Why are you telling me now?"

"I have no idea. Blame it on the alcohol, being tired, having too much time to think this week. Not to mention you … pushing all my buttons the last few times I've seen you."

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say a damn thing, V. Just something that's been rolling around in my head for years."

"Years?"

"Yeah." I raise an eyebrow and observe her reaction.

She swallows and then gets brave enough to ask the question: "What exactly has been rolling around in your head?"

"That's a long list. Too many thoughts."

"Just tell me one thing you've thought about."

We are still standing face to face. I glance down at her lips. She licks them. Not sure if that's nervousness or anticipation.

Looking back up at her eyes, I say, "What it would be like to kiss you."

"What it would be like …?" Her thought trails off. She's clearly having trouble processing this.

"Yeah. I wonder about that."

"Spent much time wondering about that?"

I'm not sure where she's going with this, but I confess, "Yeah."

"This 'wondering' wouldn't by any chance be more like fantasizing, would it?"

Bells and whistles go off in my head. It's a trap. Back away. Right. Fucking. Now.

But before I can get control of myself, a smile spreads across my face as my eyebrow goes up and I tilt my head.

I wait for her reaction. A slap. An insult. Running out the room. Something. I would have expected something. But she's just standing there … staring at me.

"What are you thinking, V?"

"Wondering something myself. Wondering why you never kissed me."

"Did you want me to?"

"That's not the point."

"Actually, it kind of is. I don't generally go around kissing girls who don't want me to kiss them."

"Okay … but … you could've … found a way to … let me know."

"It wouldn't have changed anything."

"How can you be so sure?"

"There's a reason you're back with Logan. You have a type. Clearly, I'm not it."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that." Something about the way she says this is strange.

"What does that mean?"

"Things have been off … with Logan and me … for a while now."

Now, I'm getting concerned. "You said the other day that the women of Hearst were the least of your worries when it came to him. What tops the list?"

She pauses for a moment to consider her answer. "Sometimes, I think … we're not right for each other. He's got … a lot of issues. And I'm not sure if he wants … it's like he has no desire for things to be better … or different. With the similarities between him and his dad, that's a little concerning. He's 'attending' Hearst, but not attending classes. I'm not saying he has to have everything figured out … I mean none of us do. Right? But there comes a point where you have to move on from surfing and playing video games."

"V, what are you getting at?"

"He and I got back together after graduation … and the adrenaline-fueled rooftop rescue."

I nod as I say, "The Casablancas kid."

"Yeah. It was a rough night."

"It wasn't exactly a picnic for me either."

She gives me a sympathetic look, seeming to remember my arrest at graduation. "Not sure what would have happened if he hadn't responded to my text and come up to the roof to find me."

Scares me to think about that. I hate that Echolls was the one who was there to help her, but at the same time, I'm glad she's still alive.

Before I realize what I'm doing, I wrap my arms around her. As I hold her, she continues talking.

"What I'm trying to say is … if that's the only reason we got back together … Maybe I stayed with him because it was comfortable … familiar. But is that enough? Is it right?"

"Only you can answer those questions, V." Obviously, I have an opinion, but I keep it to myself.

She lifts her head off my shoulder and leans back to look at me. She looks so damn beautiful. I can't believe I'm holding her right now. It takes every bit of willpower I have to stop myself from kissing her.

She's staring into my eyes as she says, "Eli …"

And I nearly melt.

* * *

A/N:

As I usually do with things that are pulled from my "ideas folder" … I'm posting it as a one-shot and marking it complete, but there's always the possibility that my imagination comes up with a way to continue it.

New chapter of "We Used to Trade Favors" went up at the same time as this.

Thanks for reading.

Until next time …

~Jen

7 September 2019


End file.
